“I find that hard to believe.” I stand. “You had a year to ‘reconcile’, yet you choose now, right after the partners’ dinner.”
William’s smile falters. “This isn’t about partnership.”
“Isn’t it?” I cross my arms. “Or maybe it’s about me finally moving on, and you can’t stand it. Did I hurt your feelings when you saw me with him? And you could lie, but we both know you watched me walk out of the restaurant that night and get into a man’s car.” I watch the realization dawn on his face.
“Wait—you’re seeing someone?” His tone shifts from pleading to incredulous. “You can’t be serious, Minji. You aren’t the type to move on so quickly, and you don’t do casual hookups, so please stop lying to me. I didn’t get a good look that night, but I’m sure it was a car service that picked you up.”
I stare at him, jaw tight. There’s no winning this conversation, but I’m too stubborn to disengage. It’s like slamming my head against a brick wall, knowing it’ll never budge, but still doing it out of principle.
“I’m not lying,” I say calmly, though my hands want to tremble at how much he’s gotten under my skin. I refuse to give him the satisfaction. “I am seeing someone.” I don’t owe him details, or stories, or even a name.
He looks genuinely stunned, but then—of course—he recovers, smoothing his hair, fixing his tie, all gestures meant to make me remember how carefully put together he is. “Who is it? It’s that writer Arnold, isn’t it? That is the only other person you’ve been around, but I don’t think you’re his type. No offense, I just think he would want a woman with more body.”
Do I really need this job? I can just punch him in the throat and call it self-defense.
“His name is Aaron, and what does it matter if it is him? Also, refrain from talking about my body, whether directly or indirectly.”
William’s eyes narrow, calculation flickering behind the performance of surprise. He leans in, lowering his voice to a private register. “So, it is him.” He scoffs. “Well, I think you can do better than some… wannabe Casanova milking heartbreak for profit.”
My lips flatten into my practiced, professional smile. “He doesn’t milk anything. He writes stories about human connection, finding home and love—wait, why am I even trying to explain myself to you? Just know, William, you and I will never be a thing again. We broke up a year ago. Move on. You were quick to find someone while we were dating. Why is it hard to find someone when we’re not? Also, don’t answer that because it wasn’t a question.”
William scoffs, rapping his knuckles on the door frame—a tic I remember from late nights prepping together for depositions. “You could still do better.”
“Not your business, William.”
“Everything about you is my business,” he says in a near-whisper, as if intimacy is currency.
I make a gagging noise. “Seems like you picked up a few romance novels yourself. Please don’t ever say that to me again. You’re a repulsive man, and I hate you.” My hand falls to my mouse, a subtle fuck you, the universal signal for get out of my office. But before he can reply, I add: “If you’re done here, I have work to do.”
He stands there, chewing the inside of his cheek, feeling defeated in a way he’d never admit aloud. For half a second, he looks lost, revealing a hint of the boy I first met when I started interning—the one who used legal pads as conversation starters and spelled ‘his’ with a heart over the ‘i.’ That moment quickly disappears, replaced by the man who whispered promises against my skin while texting his next conquest. My phone vibrates on the desk, displaying Aaron’s name. William’s gaze flicks to it, and I swear I could see his right eye twitch. Good.
“I have a motion to prepare. And let me be crystal clear,” I meet his gaze directly. “There will never be a chance of reconciliation. Not now. Not ever.”
“So, dinner to discuss Thornton is completely off the table?”
“The onlytableis this desk between us, during business hours, discussing nothing but the Thornton case.”Did he just not hear what I said?“And considering you’re lead counsel, perhaps focus your attention there instead of my personal life.”
William’s polished façade cracks—just a hairline, but enough. His fingers flex at his sides, as if he’s grasping for control that’s slipping away.
“You’re making a mistake, Minji.” His voice drops to that velvet register that once made my knees weak but now raises my blood pressure. “We complement each other. In court. In life. The partners see it, too.”
I slam my legal pad against the desk. “I wasted four years thinking you were worth it. That was my only mistake.” I point to the door. “Get out. Have some self-fucking-respect. I don’t want you. Now, leave. Some of us have actual work to do.”
He hovers, eyes scanning my face for whatever the fuck he is looking for. Finding nothing, his jaw tightens. “You and the writer, it won’t last.” His knuckles whiten around the doorknob. “Men who write about love for a living are sampling from the buffet, not ordering a full-course meal.”
“Goodbye, William.”
The door clicks shut. I collapse back, lungs emptying like a punctured tire. The sheer audacity of that man—waltzing in here with his reconciliation script like I’m some supporting character in his personal redemption arc.
My phone buzzes. Aaron’s message appears. It’s a photo of him grinning beside a mountain of his books, thumbs up, those ridiculous dimples creating shadows on his cheeks that make my stomach flip, despite myself.
I set the phone face down and open Tamara’s motion document. The cursor blinks, patient, while William’s parting shot echoes:Men who write about love for a living are sampling from the buffet...
The thought snags like a loose thread. Aaron, with his easy smile and effortless charm. Book tours. Adoring readers. Women with dog-eared copies of his novels and hearts in their eyes. Has he been—would I even have standing to?—
I pinch the bridge of my nose. This is exactly what William intended, planting doubt like invasive seeds. I refuse to water them.
My phone buzzes again and I expect to see Aaron’s name but it’s Demi.
